For an Epitaph at Fiesole
LO! where the four mimosas blend their shade
In calm repose at last is Landor laid;
For ere he slept he saw them planted here
By her his soul had ever held most dear,
And he had liv’d enough when he had dried her tear.
LO! where the four mimosas blend their shade
In calm repose at last is Landor laid;
For ere he slept he saw them planted here
By her his soul had ever held most dear,
And he had liv’d enough when he had dried her tear.
The precentor Damoteles, Bacchus, exalts
Your tripod, and, sweetest of deities, you.
He was champion of men, if his boyhood had faults;
And he ever loved honour and seemliness too.
Lover of England, stand awhile and gaze
With thankful heart, and lips refrained from praise;
They rest beyond the speech of human pride
Who served with Nelson and with Nelson died.
To you this marble statue, maids divine,
Xenocles raised, one tribute unto nine.
Your votary all admit him: by this skill
He gat him fame: and you he honours still.
This statue, stranger, scan with earnest gaze;
And, home returning, say 'I have beheld
Anacreon, in Teos; him whose lays
Were all unmatched among our sires of eld.'
Say further: 'Youth and beauty pleased him best;'
And all the man will fairly stand expressed.
Far as Miletus travelled Paean's son;
There to be guest of Nicias, guest of one
Who heals all sickness; and who still reveres
Him, for his sake this cedarn image rears.
The sculptor's hand right well did Nicias fill;
And here the sculptor lavished all his skill.
And let her loves, when she is dead,
Write this above her bones:
"No more she lives to give us bread
Who asked her only stones."
They don't want to be your hedge, Your barrier, your living wall, the no-go & nbsp; Go-between between your property And the prying of dogs and strangers. They don't
For a moment I suppressed the bellows of respiration,
Lo and behold! The Lamp lit up brightly and I realized my Self!
The light within me sparkled out;
In the encompassing darkness, I seized at It and gripped It tightly.
She even thinks that up in heaven
Her class lies late and snores
While poor black cherubs rise at seven
To do celestial chores.